In The Name Of Justice
by Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod
Summary: One prefect alone cannot stop a fight between two ancient factions. But if she was a foolhardy Gryffindor, she would try...
1. Sauve Qui Peut

A/N: Exactly a thousand words. Wow. Anyway, this is a sequel to Thoughts On The Brave At Heart. It would be nice if you could read that first, because this is basically a spoiler for the lovely neat cliffhanger ending on that that took me forever. Dedicated to sheikgoddess, a truly awesome reviewer. Never mind being worshipped by chickens, hun, this author thanks the heavens for you every time she posts an HP story (because at least one person will review it). There WILL be a last chapter to this.

Disclaimer: Rowena Ashford, Ciaran O'Sullivan and Naira Grimoire are mine. Everything else is _not_. It isn't polite to rub my nose in it.

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The Gryffindor portrait hole flew open and a prefect climbed out, frowning, wand drawn. Her brows came low over red-rimmed glasses. "What is going on out here?" she asked, although it was quite plain that it was a brawl composed of equal parts Gryffindors and Slytherins. She grabbed a terrfied first-year by the scruff of his neck. "Look," she told him, setting him down, "go find teachers. Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, I don't care. Some people in authority. Tell them Rowena asks for their help because she can't handle this fight alone, OK?"

The petrified boy nodded and ran off. As he turned the corridor, he heard Rowena yell "Sonorus!" and then, suddenly, much louder, "All right! What do you think you are doing?"

It was proving difficult to break up the fight. Rowena had sorted several anxious first- and second-years from the more experienced, more serious fighters and either dispatched them in search of persons of authority, sent them scurrying in the direction of the dungeons or slung them behind the portrait hole. No reinforcements had arrived; either the students had not been believed or they had not found anyone.

Rowena waded through the fight. She grabbed the tail end of a Slytherin's scarf as he tried to hex a Gryffindor third-year desperately searching for her wand. The girl found it and performed a first-class Jelly-Legs jinx. "Better!" Rowena boomed, stepping aside from the floundering Slytherin. "Get into the common room!" The girl scrambled past her, nursing a bleeding hand.

Five minutes later, about half the protagonists remained and no helpers had arrived. Rowena had been forced to call on the occasional student's help to end jinxes and hexes of all sorts. She was tiring, her resistance to curses, jinxes and hexes weakening, and worse, she knew it. A small knot of Gryffindors was slowly being encircled by the remaining Slytherins. Rowena poked her attacker in the eye with her wand – now was decidedly not the time for political correctness – and shouted "Petrificus Totalus". Her voice was growing hoarse; the 'Sonorus' charm wearing off under stress. As her attacker went stiff behind her, she scrabbled towards the ring of Slytherins and jabbed the nearest one in the back. He was a seventh-year, tall, brawny and shaven-headed. "Oy!" Rowena screamed as loudly and clearly as she could. "Get away from them! All of you! Cease and desist! Suspension and expulsion beckon!"

He did not turn. Rowena pummelled him with fists and elbows, tears of desperation and frustration leaking from the corners of her eyes. Her eyes were wide in a bruised face, her glasses cracked and starred. Her wand was scorched from an ill-aimed Flagrate Charm. Tear-tracks meandered down her face, tracing the outline of battered cheeks. She screamed in anger and shouted, "FURNUNCULUS!"

A bit of a ridiculous hex, really; its only effect was to bring people out in boils. But it had the desired effect. It did what a prefect's orders and a physical attack did not; created a diversion. As one, the antagonists turned to stare at this girl who had brought a Slytherin half her size again out in boils. "And I thought that only happened in movies," Rowena muttered and raised her voice again. Her throat hurt so much. "Listen! What do you think you are at? This is a mindless brawl! It is unworthy of you! Get back to your common rooms, now!"

There was silence. It looked as if the Gryffindors were about to obey her, but the Slytherins stayed put. One boy cleared his throat. "Come on. You heard what the lady said."

"What lady?" the Slytherin Rowena had attacked grunted. "I don't see no lady. I see a Mudblood. Why should I take orders from a Mudblood?"

Rowena went white with fury. Her voice trembled a little as she said, "Say that again, fool."

"Mudblood," the boy repeated. "Mudblood, Mudblood, MUDBLOOD."

"That's enough," Rowena hissed. "Would you prefer I called one of your own prefects? This brawl is beneath you. I think. After your behaviour here I cannot be as sure as I once was. Be assured the full history of events will find its way to my ears, and Professor McGonagall's. Get away with you, and next time, pick on someone prepared, and your own size, why don't you? Better yet- don't pick on anybody!"

There was more pointless silence.

"Well, go!" Rowena repeated. "And make no more trouble on your way down to the dungeons. Need I call Naira Grimoire and Ciaran O'Sullivan? I see they aren't among you."

One of the few girls in the Slytherin ring laughed. "O'Sullivan and Grimoire? A half-blood and a blood traitor. Tell me, little insect, why we would take orders from them?"

"Because they're prefects?" Rowena suggested. "Or has that idea not yet made its way to your cranial space?" The words were hoarse and barely intelligible, but the Slytherin understood an insult.

There was a great clattering, just around the corner. "Stupefy!" the Slytherin growled. Rowena could not move. She was tired. Very, very tired. What was this... the sixth stupefy? The seventh? Perhaps the eighth? Rowena did not know. She could not step away from that spot. Part of her detached from herself and floated above, watching the jet of red light hit... herself. A battered, pale, scorched girl dressed in Gryffindor's colours crumpled like the first, discarded draft of a letter home bearing bad news. Another girl dressed in red and gold screamed, and continued to scream as the mixed group of teachers and students rounded the corner, racing towards the body of a girl taking her last breaths. The detached part of Rowena floated inexorably towards her body, occupying it just as Naira Grimoire and Professor McGonagall leant over her. She smiled weakly at them.

"If a tree falls in a forest with no-one to hear it, does that mean it did not make a noise?"

Rowena Ashford closed her eyes and slept.

Quidditch does indeed make people do funny things.


	2. An Interesting Death

A/N: Hey. There is, after all, going to be a final epilogue to this. SORRY. I realise that that makes the information I gave last chapter incorrect, but witha strong-minded character mucking about in your head you never know what will happen. It isn't really the ultimate power over them. If you don't like what I did with this character, I don't care. Rowena is MINE.

Disclaimer: Nah. Not mine.

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Rowena looked around. Her glasses were on her face, her wand in her hand. Her wand was as good as new, her glasses as if they had never been broken. She was moving slowly towards a fluttering, ragged curtain. Shortly, she had passed through, straight through the curtain. She felt it rush through her, icy cold. She stood still.

In front of her was a gathering- no, a community –of spirits, like Rowena. She saw someone else in Hogwarts robes, and ran towards him. He was taller than her, and the robes looked like Hufflepuff robes, but he was from Hogwarts. "Who are you? Where am I?"

The spirit turned to look at her, and Rowena's no-longer-beating heart almost stopped. "You're Cedric Diggory," she whispered. She collected herself. "Does that mean I'm dead?"

Cedric was frowning at her. "Yes. But you can't be more than a fifth-year- what are you doing here?"

Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Being dead."

"Well, that's the obvious," Cedric said. He turned to someone, and shouted, "Professor Dumbledore! One of your students!"

Dumbledore moved towards them and looked at Rowena. "Who are you, child?" he asked gently.

"Rowena Ashford," Rowena said.

"Did Voldemort kill you?"

"No," Rowena answered. "I suppose I died of one too many hexes, trying to break up a post-match fight."

"Who won?" Cedric inquired.

"Gryffindor over Slytherin," Rowena replied.

"Good," Cedric said with some relish. "We don't get Quidditch here."

"So I see," Rowena said dryly.

Dumbledore thought of something. "Miss Ashford, have you seen Mr. Potter recently?"

"What, Harry Potter?" Rowena inquired.

"Yes, Harry Potter. Have you seen him?"

Rowena fiddled with her wand. "I saw him on the train, September," she answered uncertainly. "But a little lioness told me they were heading for Godric's Hollow."

Cedric raised his eyes to the grey ceiling. "Couldn't you be more specific?"

"Wouldn't that be a breach of trust?" Rowena replied in kind.

Dumbledore was smiling gently. "A 'little lioness', you say. How reliable?"

"Very reliable." A grin tugged at the edges of Rowena's mouth; she could see Dumbledore had narrowed it down.

"So." Dumbledore looked at Rowena shrewdly. "Miss Granger."

"No." Rowena was now into full Cheshire-cat mode.

"Miss Weasley, then," Dumbledore said.

"Spot on," Rowena told the ex-Headmaster.

"Thank-you for the information," Dumbledore said simply. "Lily and James will be happy to know. So will Sirius."

Rowena felt a tugging at her robes and fingers. "What now, for heaven's sake?"

"I think you are going back," Dumbledore told her. "It would not be my choice, but I do not think that you have a choice. My regards to the school."

Cedric grinned. "Happy Haunting!"

"I will," Rowena promised, and let the tides of the netherworld take her.

It felt a bit like being on a video being rewinded. Rowena's ghostly route was retraced exactly, and seemingly so fast as to nearly make her sick. Eventually, she reached Hogwarts. She saw the Great Doors up ahead. It took her a moment to remember that she could now walk through them and have done with it. After all, she reflected in a somewhat macabre fashion, she had died on the premises.

It seemed as if she had spent much longer behind the strange curtain- or perhaps travelling – or at any rate, dead -than she had anticipated. Nearly a whole year. As she swooped indoors, tides of students centered the Great Hall, talking, laughing and carefully avoiding Peeves, who was bursting water-balloons filled with diluted ink over their heads. A small group of scared first-years huddled together. "It's rolled round to the Sorting!" she exclaimed, and went to find another ghost.

She stood, or perhaps floated would be more apt, with Moaning Myrtle and the Grey Lady as (in an entirely unexpected diversion from tradition) the Head Girl placed the Sorting Hat on the stool. Professor McGonagall scanned the Hall, looking for new and old students. Her eyes rested on Rowena, and they widened. Rowena had often thought Professor McGonagall incapable of more expression than a lifted eyebrow. She waved cheerfully. Professor McGonagall pointed her out discreetly to the other members of staff. Professor Trelawney peered at her through saucer-sized glasses and took a large gulp of what Rowena was fairly sure was not pumpkin juice.

The Hat opened its mouth and began. Rowena smiled. It's going to be an interesting death, she thought.


	3. Continuity and Curses on Cliches

**A/N: This may not be the last you hear from Rowena, but for the moment I would like to introduce you to Juniper Berkeley, proof that life really does go on. Please do not flame because you think I'm bringing Rowena back to life- in essence, reincarnating her, a prime opportunity for making her a Mary-Sue. I'm not. Juniper is a distinct person with distinct differences. Rowena's less likely to break rules, has less potential for deviousness, is less likely to think outside the box, and perhaps less practical. For example, although Rowena and Juniper both have tree names (ish) Rowena's actually comes from the root name rowan, which, althoughalso a tree name, was chosen because I was after a red, firey kind of name. Nowhere, except in the thick of battle, does it say Rowena's glasses are dirty orbroken. Rowena is also more idealistic amd laid-back. If you force me to illustrate it (and I can) I will. Just - no - _flames_.THIS IS NOT A PLOT DEVICE TO BRING ROWENA BACK TO LIFE. THAT WOULD BE THICK.I may be as twisty as heck and Ican tell a decent lie, which is why I am Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor,but I don't muck with my characters.**

**Disclaimer: Si tu creo que es mio, tu eres muy, muy loco. (If you think this is mine, you are certifiably losing your marbles.)**

**Disclaimer 1a: Except Rowena,Juniperand The Shades Of Hogwarts**

**Disclaimer 2: I have just finished my second year of learning Spanish. If the above is incorrect or rude,it isn't my fault. Myfather didn't go into much detail on swearwords, although I now do a nice line in translated Spanish dirty jokes.**

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It was only a month or two after Rowena's return to Hogwarts when a first-year, stamping through ankle-deep snow, came up to her. "Is it true you died here last year?" she asked.

The first-year reminded Rowena of someone. Untidy brown hair was neatly tied back with a red ribbon. Serious hazel eyes, made enormous by a large pair of rather cloudy round black-rimmed glasses, wound with duct tape on one arm, peered at her. The girl noticed Rowena's look. "Duct tape is like the Force," she quoted. "Black on one side, white on the other and it holds the world together." She wore Gryffindor's colours, a red and gold scarf wound thickly around her throat against the chill coming off the nearby lake. A leather-bound book was clasped to her chest and she had a solid, dependable look. She wore sturdy black boots slightly worn at the tips and her cheeks were pink from the cold.

Rowena now realised that Juniper reminded Rowena at least a bit of herself, and was briefly annoyed at the deity responsible for clichés. "What's your name?" Rowena enquired, annoyance passing as she recalled several doubtful specimens of her own.

The first-year made a face, perhaps because of her name, perhaps because Peeves had just tossed a snowball straight through Rowena to impact on the first-year's visage. "PEEVES! Do you want me to get the Bloody Baron?" Rowena bellowed and turned back to the first-year.

"I'm so sorry," Rowena apologized. "I didn't catch that."

"Juniper," the first-year muttered. "Ju."

Rowena raised her eyebrows. "Juniper?..."

"Juniper Berkeley," Juniper completed. "Known as Ju... ma'am."

Rowena grinned. "We trees must stick together. Call me Rowena, and I shall call you Ju."

"Rowena," Juniper tried. Gaining more confidence, she said, "I only asked if it were true you died last year because I looked in this book-" she held up the tome; its silver-printed title was The Shades Of Hogwarts "-and it didn't mention you at all. Do you know what they call you?"

Rowena blinked. "No. Tell me- what do they call me?"

Juniper smiled. "They call you the brazen lady."

"Huh!" Rowena exclaimed. "Please tell them I have got a name. It's Rowena, as you know."

"I will," Juniper promised. She paused. "If it's not entirely rude, how did you die?"

"It's not," Rowena assured her. "I died because I got in the way of a post-Quidditch-match fight between Gryffindors and Slytherins. I could have waited, I suppose, for teachers and prefects to arrive, but I didn't."

"Why didn't you?" Juniper asked curiously.

Rowena thought. "I could see little first-years and second years in there," she answered after a bit, looking up to thick, heavy clouds. "When you next see a second- or third-year standing on a pedestal of bravado, just picture a scared fist-or second-year caught up in a maze of fists, feet and jinxes. It wasn't fair to leave them in there, and of course, I couldn't just back away from a brawl in my role as a prefect, could I?"

"You could," Juniper said frankly.

Rowena stuck her ghostly tongue out at Juniper.

"That's just gruesome," Juniper told her firmly.

"No, ghostly," Rowena corrected. "There's a difference. And I couldn't walk away. It wouldn't have been fair or right."

"You were a Gryffindor, then," Juniper stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Rowena said. She gave a little smile. "You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart; their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart."

"Isn't that one of the Sorting Hat's rhymes?" Juniper queried. "Sounds like it."

Rowena stopped, floating perhaps an inch off the ground. "And how would you know what the Sorting Hat's rhymes sound like?"

"People quote them," Juniper said. "I like to watch and listen. It lets me think."

"I'm sure it does."

Juniper dusted a seat free of snow, sat down and put her head to one side. "Tell me about you," she said.

Rowena grinned to herself. Just so she would demand; just so she wouldprise answers from the person she was interrogating. Rowena, at least, would always give Juniper the answers she craved.

"It all starts with the concept of justice..." she began.


End file.
